


Lathbora Viran.

by BubblegumCannibal



Series: Commissions and Gifts [3]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:05:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3175590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubblegumCannibal/pseuds/BubblegumCannibal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gift trade Sollavellan. End game spoilers do apply and au's are fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lathbora Viran.

**Author's Note:**

> Words: 1,486  
> Characters: (specific) Lavellan & Solas  
> Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Behind the dreams of   
m   a   s   t   e   r   y  
Love   dies   silently  
Torn to the flesh as   
the    fire    bleeds  
Echoes of history

 

>                                            ~Conquest of Spaces

“Harel!  ** _HAREL!_** ”

Frozen in his steps, the mage found himself almost panicking. The words sounded frantic, almost as if they were running from the enemy that was a hungry, black wolf. Strange to see that they were just as much of a problem in Orlais as they were in the Hinterlands all those years ago. Yet, the one shrieking was an Elf, no less. In his heart, he was inclined to help the little one escape.

Staff in hand, his hand tightened at the tattered cloth that wrapped his grip. Faster did his step become as he hurried in his following of someone’s hysteria.

“Harel,” the voice continued to cry, possibly hoping for someone bring them aid, yet following, silently—worried, ready—he saw no wolf, heard no snarling of a famished beast, just an excited girl running to the side of a hooded woman.

Tall, did this woman stand, bow upon her back, neatly tethered to the quiver that seemed to be lined in gold. With the boots that rode up her thigh, carefully strapped with straps and belts that held little blades tightly to her physique, Solas couldn’t help but study her. Human or Elf, this woman held the graceful frame of a true warrior.

Perhaps these were just the thoughts of a lonely old God, but…  One can’t complain when graced with such beauty.

Watching the girl, she pulled at the straps of the woman’s bracers, observing as she turned her head to show a mask, sparkling in the sunlight. Snout long, the mask shined with a black metal he had not seen. It seemed lightweight with a beautiful shine, holding a set of gold fangs, clasped so tightly together.

Dire wolf. This woman held the makeshift skull of a Dire wolf.

“Apostate,” she spoke, voice a touch muffled from the guise, “Name yourself or be eaten.”

“Solas, my lady,” a curt bow, heart pounding in his throat.

“My  _lady._ My  _lady._ ” The archer clicked her tongue in a mocking manner.

Catching her gaze, Solas could see that pastel green of her eyes roll and flutter in annoyance. With his stomach reaching up into this his throat, he felt his mouth dry as if it were filling with cotton. He hadn’t stepped into a trap lain by mage hunters… did he?

A huff then a click as the woman lifted her gloved hands to remove her mask. Eying her, he took notes mental notes of her. The curve of her hips… the way her uniform hugged every bit of her body. The sound of her loose necklaces clanking together as they shifted against her silver choker.

The mage swallowed hard as she handed off the veil that shielded her. As the young warrior bowed, those green eyes turned back to him, taut and serious as if the gods filled her with anger.  If only anger could define how she truly felt.

Eyes burning, the Elf glowered, teeth gritting as she stepped closer, coat tails lifting in the wind as she did so, “Ten years and there is no word of you. You just leave. No reasoning other than ‘ _another life_ ’. You know how fucked that is? I had to live on my own believing  that you leaving was  ** _my_** fault.”

“Your highness--?”

Hand raised, the group took a step back in silence. Yet Solas filled the gap betwixt the two, placing his hands upon her lightly scarred cheeks. Standing close to her, he could smell that familiar scent of hers, a fresh scent of nature—clean soil and pine trees. He was at peace again; unfortunately words couldn’t escape his vocal cords as he choked on the air trying to escape his lungs. How could he have not noticed her? Then again, ever since he had left, all he had were Cole’s words burning into the back of his skull.

_Ar lasa mala revas. You are so beautiful. But then you turned away._

“Lethallan, I— _Lethallan._ ” Feeling her hands rest at his wrists, he pressed his forehead against hers. Beneath his thumbs, he could feel the lines of her Vallaslin among her cheekbones— her lips. The pale God had missed this. Though the eyes of the small group were well on them, he held no repentance over his sudden actions.

If she were to strike him, Solas did deserve it. Every last blow.

_She feels her face, marked, marred without malice. She didn’t know. She thinks it’s why you walked away…_

“Ir abelas… I’m so sorry. Be these words true in my heart, Lavellan, I never meant to hurt you like this. I wished you to be safe, free from destructive path. The blame is never yours—always mine.”

Her fingers crept as he spoke, leaving his wrists to grasp at his slender digits. Soft, still so soft, were his hands, as opposed to the calloused notches on hers. Lavellan felt alive again. Free from the darkness that encased her royal body in exhausted determination.

If he left again, she’d crumble. If he left again, she’d probably unleash a dangerous army ready and willing to do anything for their Queen. For so long had she been alone, clinging to the shred of him that lingered in her memory. This Elf… no—this  _apostate_ gave her everything she needed and more. Then, the Inquisition was but a growing family, teething and spreading through word of mouth amongst the people of Thedas. Yet, with the thought of the armies of the faithful, the lot of them was predominantly human.

She knew the only one that would probably see the end of this century was a Dwarf author and a protective mercenary Qunari. Never did the thought of having a throne with the man that she loved at her side.

It was going to take a while to forgive him.

Howbeit, he was here now, holding her hand; planting soft kisses atop her knuckles here and there as the pushed her team through the forest.

“Queen,” he pondered, that voice of his resonating in her chest, resparking that joy in her heart once more, “I know I’ve been gone, free from your memories and dreams, but has it really been that long?”

She nudged him with her shoulder, head down, and brown bangs sweeping over her lowered gaze, “ _King_ , actually. Shocking isn’t it? Leader of the Faithful Army now Ruler of the Faithful lands. So much has changed since you’ve left.”

“Alas, you still fight.”

“I can’t sit still on a big fancy throne and do paperwork all day; you know that better than anyone.”

Halting in her steps, she pulled at his hand. Facing him, soul and all, the Orlesian King chewed at her lip.  Her heart lowered, dropping into her stomach as she gazed into his face once more. It had been such a long time since she had stood this close to such a man to close to her—a man who held her heart in the palm of his hands.

“Is this your way of making up? Showing your face as a way to mention that you’re alive? Or will you stay?

The shudder of the trees took place of the hush around them. Her group had marched on without them, some peeking back to watch the old couple flirt in private.

Despite their imaginations, a broken heart spoke to this God with fevered intentions. Lavellan craved his touch again, the way his smile brought excitement to her as it did in the beginning. He was what kept her committed to their cause—alive, really.

He was the light at the end of the tunnel, if a clichéd term could work here.

Albeit, gaze turned downward, Solas took a breath. He owed her everything and more. He owed her an explanation. He owed her his love.  ** _He owed her his life._** The King was everything to him and without her he was nothing but serpent lying through life, crawling away from problems on his belly.

Another kiss to her hands, this one longer than the soft pecks he gave.

“I will stay. Another fortnight and I’d go mad not seeing you as I woke or as I slept. Things may happen, yes, where I may disappear once again, but never as long as I have.”

“No, I can’t have you leave me again--”

“Not, like that, lethallan, never as long as that.Never again. I will be here for you. I refuse to hurt you such as that again.”

His words rang true, shocking to say. Legends say he was a beast that cared not for people, heretofore that is. Pain such as hers would leave him with a grin stretched ear to ear, although why did such a woman hold his behavior differently? By the gods, a liar true to his tongue, infatuated with a keeper of their history—a  ** _King_** no less.

                                        Because she is the change he needs.


End file.
